Alexander, following the man up the great stairs of the abbot’s house, felt a tightening of the nerves that surprised him. Apart from his dealings with Queen Morgan, his young self-confidence had rarely been shaken, but this interview – he found himself totally unsure of what to say or how to say it, knowing only that it must somehow be said. His dealings with Queen Morgan; there lay the rub. What Alice might have told her father already of that story, and what the duke might have made of it, Alexander did not care to guess. But he was Alice’s father, and the truth would have to be told.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and went past the bowing servant into the bedchamber.

The duke was still in bed, propped on high pillows. The chamber was big and sunny, overlooking the river meadows and the mill. Its furnishings were as good as any in a lord’s house – which in fact it was, the abbot being cousin to a minor king somewhere in Wales. There was fine horn in the window-frame, and the hangings were beautifully woven and worked. Only the cushioned prie-dieu in the corner, with the crucifix hanging above it, showed that this was a room in a religious house.

Alexander made his bow and spoke his formal greetings, and the old man smiled and motioned him to a chair set between the bed and the window.

“The son of Baudouin of Cornwall, my daughter tells me? I remember him. I never met him, but he was always well spoken of. A father to be proud of. And I understand that your mother lives still?”

So Alexander repeated his story of his father’s murder and their flight from King March’s court and how his mother had sworn that one day he should avenge his father.

“And that was what you set out to do?”

“Not quite, sir. I would have gone, of course, but she wouldn’t have it. It was not that her love and grief for my father had grown less, but that – she said – things had changed in Britain since that day. There were other ways to bring King March down to shame and perhaps death. She wouldn’t let me go into Cornwall, but told me to ride to Camelot and submit the matter to the High King’s law.”

“Which explains why you are travelling north through Rheged?” said the duke, then smiled. “No, boy, I know why you are here. I have heard of your sojourn at the Dark Tower – what you told her of it – from my daughter. Don’t think I can throw any stone of blame! Once – a very long time ago – I was young myself, and did some foolish and sinful things which I would hardly care to be reminded of now … But even through evil, I believe God can move us in the way we should go.”

He paused, and his head went back on the pillows, as if in weariness, but when Alexander got up, ready to go, or to call in the nun who sat outside, he lifted a hand to stop him.